Interval
by Obsidian Ocean
Summary: The five times Steve Rogers waited for Natasha Romanoff and the one time she did. Romanogers
1. 1

Natasha was sleeping over at Steve's apartment.

Maybe it was weird – her sleeping in Captain America's apartment but to be honest, she had not given it a second thought.

The mission that they were both involved in lasted longer than they thought it would. And more stressful in that matter. Natasha could barely remember the last time she properly slept, her brain only focusing on her operation.

When the two of them stumbled in Steve's apartment, he had offered her his bed. Natasha refused and took the couch instead.

She didn't like to take offers too much. There was always a lingering feeling that she owed the person something in return and debt was the last thing she needed to worry about in her life.

And it wasn't like she could sleep anyways. Natasha was exhausted, yes, but her brain was still wide awake, distracting sleep away with bright, fluorescent colors.

And maybe it was the foreign feeling of the unusually warm covers draped around her, or the cool leather pressed against her skin, but whenever Natasha's eyes fluttered shut, the images would come and take her away.

They were always the same – repeated again and again in the same sequence. But that never failed to frighten her.

At first, it was an empty ballet studio with Swan Lake playing softly in the background in an unnerving way rather than a lull to sleep. Then, a girl dropped on the floor, her eyes rolled back. _We are the wolves. The weak ones falls first._ She was Natasha's first kill, and definitely not her last. There was blood everywhere – on her hands, on the wooden polished floor, spilled across her dress like coppery ink.

A pinch on her skin of her forearm when a needle punctured through. The ballet studio was brighter now, as if someone had opened the windows to let sunlight in. Natasha could see girls pirouetting to the music, spinning in graceful circles. She did too, her toes aching in her pointe shoes.

 _See, Natalia? You're getting better already._ She didn't know if the voice was talking about ballet or the bloody knife in her hand. She didn't know anymore. Natasha just blindly followed.

Her hands were wet with more blood. She could taste the rustiness in her mouth. More blood. And agony. And anger.

Natasha did not realize that she had fallen asleep and was now screaming until she felt someone place a hand lightly on her shoulder.

Jerking upwards, her fingers found the warm hand in instinct and nearly broke the wrist before she saw who it belonged to.

"Hey." Steve winced a little when he retrieved his hand. Natasha's fell limply on her stomach. "Hey, it's alright."

He looked sleepy. There was no doubt that she had woken him up with her cry. There were heavy shadows rimming under his blue eyes and he had bed hair. He looked cute with bed hair, Natasha had to admit despite the shivers running through her body.

"Sorry." She tried to make it sound like her usual unbreakable self – as if she was not really sorry at all. But all that came out was a rough whisper that made Natasha looked down at her covers.

Steve surprised her by grabbing her chin lightly between two fingers and coaxing her to lift her face up so their eyes could meet. "Tell me." He murmured. "What is it?"

That made her let out a breath in surprise. Natasha's walls were already trembling, threatening to collapse. And she knew that once it actually did fall, Steve would back away like she was danger.

That was what everyone she loved did. Except for Clint. He was always the exception.

Natasha couldn't afford that. She couldn't afford to lose Steve, as a friend, as a partner or even as something more. She had to suck it up.

"Nothing. It's nothing." She brushed her hair away from her eyes. "Just a bad dream." Steve didn't budge so she added bluntly, "Go back to sleep."

He paused for a while as if pondering about what to do next (hopefully walk away and forget that this ever happened).

"Move over." He ordered instead. Natasha quietly sat up and retracted her legs to her chest so Steve had space to sit next to her, not questioning his motives.

Steve turned to look at her. "We are very different." He said out of the blue. She glanced up quite reluctantly, interested by the subject. "But we both have the same weak spot for our past."

That made Natasha advert her eyes again. "Yeah, because being America's greatest hero in the nineteen-thirties was such a tragedy." She said coldly.

She felt the leathery surface of the couch moved a little as Steve shifted. "Being 'America's greatest hero' came with the cost of me getting frozen for 70 years and waking up to find everyone I know either dead or waiting to die." He said. "Not so great."

Small amounts of guilt fed their way towards Natasha's emotions. She wondered if he had nightmares too – nightmares about crashing into the sea, about his dead friends, about the girl in the picture with full dark lips. "Not so great." She repeated softly.

Their eyes met, his full with assurance and trust. Natasha wondered if it was always so easy to fall for his trap. Because he got her now and she couldn't escape.

"Russia." She said. "The red room."

He stayed quiet and let her talk.

"Um, they trained us to become spies. Killers. Assassins." Natasha felt her mouth go dryer and dryer after every word. "There were 28 of us at that time. They tried to make us think that we were trained in ballet at the Bolshoi Theatre. I – they made me kill…"

She didn't really know where to go from there. The words on the tip of the tongue seemed to just dissolve in thin air.

"Okay." Steve's hand closed delicately around hers. " _Okay_."

Natasha had always knew that one day, she would have to pay the price for holding back all the memories, the emotions and the hatred for all these years.

She just never expected for it to happen in front of Steve, or much less anyone else.

They were crashing like a waterfall, breaking down any defenses she had left. There was no holding back.

She found tears leaking out her eyes. Then the sobs came to seize her out of breath. She clapped a hand to her mouth to stop it, suppressing her cries.

Natasha expected Steve to look uncomfortable and find an excuse to leave the room. It was really a strange and awkward sight to see – the Black Widow breaking down into a million pieces. But people tend to forget that she wasn't always what she was now. She was, too, once little girl that lost too much than she deserved.

Maybe it was the tears that was blurring her vision or her throbbing temples, but Steve, rather than moving further away from Natasha, he did the opposite.

He shuffled closer to her – close enough to put his arms around her like she was a little child.

"It's okay." His voice brushed lightly across her earlobe. Natasha's head nestled on the crook between his shoulders and neck like she had done it for thousands of times. "It's okay."

That was how the night ended – with Natasha slowly falling asleep in Steve's arms as he waited patiently for the next day to come, for Natasha to wake up and be the Black Widow again.


	2. 2

"Agent Romanoff." The voice in the earpiece made Natasha stop on her tracks. "The perimeter is secured. There are no more Rochev's men coming your way."

Natasha pressed on her earpiece lightly so the agent could hear her speak. "Copy that."

She turned towards Steve's direction and walked briskly towards him. He was helping an elderly lady up the back of the truck as others wait for their turn in line. His soft spoken words was able to calm the people down.

For now anyways.

The people outside the factory were the lucky ones. The not so lucky ones were trapped in the building by Rochev, waiting for their death as the bomb slowly ticked away.

Natasha never expected Rochev to pull the hostage card. Neither did Steve. But he did anyways. It was a trade – they give him back the flash drive full with information about Hydra and he deactivates the bomb, letting the hostages go.

There's a thing about Natasha where she did not believe in scenarios where she gives in to her rivals. Not now, not ever. There was always a way to win.

"Rogers." She halted to a stop in front of him. "The hostage situation –"

"It's fine." Steve said as he stepped aside to make way. "Fury says that he's getting it under control."

His tone conveyed a different meaning from his words. They were terse and so tense that it felt like it was a rubber band stretched till it was going to snap apart.

With a quick wave of Steve's hand to the driver, the truck drove away.

"Oh be honest with yourself, Steve." Natasha whipped out one of her guns from the holster hanging on her belt and twirled it around with her fingers. "Do you believe in what Fury is saying?"

He looked at her. "Do you?" he didn't answer the question.

"I don't believe bullshit when I hear them." The gun stopped spinning in circles and hung on Natasha's fingers. "Not everything Fury says is reliable."

Steve hesitated for a moment. His spine straightened subconsciously as he thought. His shield strapped on his arm glared in the sunlight.

It was almost hard to _look_ at him – his eyes so sharp with focus and looking so…Captain America-ly. It was not just that either. It was just something about Steve that made him so _pure_ to look at, as if he was literally radiating light and power.

But that was only one of the two sides he showed. This was Captain America, the soldier determined to win the war, no matter the sacrifice. Steve Rogers was the boy in Brooklyn who held Natasha when she broke down.

Having both sides collide in missions was rare. Steve was always strict with not letting emotion distract him from fights, especially after Bucky. But it was certainly happening now – she could tell that he was wary about how her eyes gleamed with anticipation. He was wary of her. He was wary _for_ her.

"Romanoff, what are you thinking?" he demanded.

"A plan." She said.

"Fury already got a plan."

Natasha pressed a lips together and took a step closer to him so she could make a point that she was equal to him. And that his intimidating look did not work on her. "His plan is probably to leave the hostages inside to die."

"He wouldn't do that." Steve pointed out.

"Why wouldn't he?" Natasha shot back. "He already got what he wanted."

It was true. The drive was safely stored away with one of the agents. Fury already won.

And even if he really meant his words, by the time help came, the building would already be blown to smithereens.

"Fine. Let's assume that Fury made a blank promise. What are we going to do about it?" a roar of an engine in the background suggested that another truck was here to pick up more people. They had to evacuate far away from the building before it blew up.

"What am _I_ going to do about it." Natasha corrected. Her fingers touched her batons. "I'm going to attack."

Steve's eyes widened. The words that came out of Natasha's mouth were almost as close as being the definition of suicide.

"You're going to go up against Rochev and his _many_ men alone?"

Natasha pretended not to hear the incredulousness in his voice. "I'll bring Howard and Brown along. I'll be fine."

He didn't look convinced. "I'm coming with."

Natasha placed her hands on the slight jut of her lips and pretended to consider the option. "No." she deadpanned.

"Natasha –"

She leaned forward threateningly. "Don't underestimate me, Captain. I can hold my own."

Steve's blue eyes darkened with frustration and he scowled. "This is not about me doubting that you will fail. I _know_ that you'll get the hostages out alive before the bomb goes off. But what I'm worried about is that you don't make it out alive." His tone suddenly softened. "That you would put yourself first."

They were standing so close, she could feel his words ghost across her lips. He seemed to notice it too as they both fell silent. He didn't pull away like she thought he would.

"Where did all the speeches about selflessness go?" Natasha said. He didn't react.

"Promise me, Natasha. Promise you'll come back."

"I will if you promise to stay here." His mouth opened to protest but she beat him to it. "The people. They need you – they need reassurance. And right now, having Captain America by their side feels pretty safe."

He didn't object. Partly because he knew he wouldn't win.

"Come back in one piece." He said at last.

"Okay."

Then she surprised herself and Steve when she pulled herself up so she could fit her lips to his. Honestly, that was what Natasha had been wanting to do for almost two years now.

His hands locked around her waist. He tasted like mint and he felt like a dream. It was almost impossible to break away from Steve but she knew she had to.

There were lives depending on her.

"I have to go." She whispered against his lips. Her fingers were still in his now messy blonde hair. "You'll wait for me, right?"

Steve let her go and nodded. It was the moment the flash of red hair disappeared into the building when Steve realized he never stopped waiting – right from the beginning.


	3. 3

The wheels made a screeching sound against the floor as the stretcher took a sharp turn into the operation room. It made everyone around cringe.

Steve was following behind, specks of blood decorating his uniform. He had a nasty looking cut on his cheek, along his cheek bone but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything right now.

All that mattered was Natasha.

"Captain Rogers, you can't –" a nurse tried to stop him from barging through the operation room door. Her high heels nearly made her slide on the floor at her rushed movements.

"It's Natasha!" Steve yelled desperately as if the two words could explain everything. "It's Natasha! I need to know that she's okay."

He _had_ to know that she was okay.

"Sir, please calm down." The nurse tried to block the entrance with her body but even an idiot could tell that Steve was strong enough to push her away with just one shove.

"Cap?"

Steve turned around wildly to find himself face to face with a very bewildered Clint Barton. The nurse could be heard breathing a sigh of relief at his distraction and hurried inside the operation room, the door clicking shut.

"Barton." It was more like a statement in surprise than a greeting. Steve took note that Clint's forearm was wrapped with white gauze. He must have just came back from a mission too.

"What happened?" Clint demanded, his words were flurried. "What – how did Natasha…what happened?"

Steve felt as if someone had socked his stomach repeatedly, the air being cut away from him by guilt. He was the reason why it happened. He should have jumped in front of Natasha when he got the chance. He should have deflected the bullet with his shield. He could have.

But instead, he had chosen to take down the shooter aiming at the crowd of hysterical people. Steve always pressurized himself in making the right choice. To do so, he had to set up this ground rule – emotion was a distraction in the battlefield.

And at that time, Natasha Romanoff was emotion. She was the one who could divert his attention away from noble thinking. So he had braced himself – the missions came first. They always should. He could not fail his mission and let innocent people die.

Steve chose responsibility over Natasha.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I'm sorry."

"Cap –"

"She got shot. In the abdomen. I don't know if it hit any vital parts, or anything important. But she was bleeding. A lot." Steve was vomiting rushed words that were almost hard to decipher. "I should have stopped the bullet. I'm sorry. It's all my fault."

Clint placed a hand of Steve's shoulders for reassurance, thought wide eyed himself. Natasha getting shot was one thing, but Steve stumbling on his words was another.

The nervous and fidgeting Captain America in front of him was never imagined by Clint. Steve was always cool and composed. Seeing him like this, it made Clint think about how Natasha and Steve could affected each other without realizing.

Clint didn't know about Steve but he had noticed changes in Natasha. The small gestures, the small hidden smiles she bore, they made her different.

Of course, nothing could compare to that night when Natasha came knocking on Clint's door.

It was dark and all of his children were already gone to sleep. Well, all except of Nathaniel. He was particularly stubborn on the topic of slumber and refused to go to sleep. Laura and Clint were upstairs trying her best to lull him to sleep.

Then someone rapped their knuckles on the front door, quick and urgent. Nathaniel had giggled at the sound.

"I'll go get it." Clint kissed his wife quickly on the hair and got up.

When the door swung open, it revealed Natasha's disheveled appearance. But despite all that, she was grinning.

Clint never knew she could even smile that wide. Hell, the first time he met Natasha, he thought she couldn't even smile.

She lit up like Christmas when he came in sight and did the second surprising thing of the night. Without a warning, Natasha stepped forward and hugged Clint.

"Who are you and what did you do to my Natasha?" he demanded after she let go.

Natasha gave a quick laugh. Was Clint dreaming? He almost told Natasha to pinch him to see if he actually was.

"No, seriously though, what happened." He realized that she was still standing outside so Clint stepped aside to let her in. Natasha, with ease as if it was her own home, went in. "Did I miss something?"

Natasha grabbed Clint's hand and tried to phrase words out of her mouth but she seemed to keep changing her mind on them until all that came out was an excited sort of half-laugh, half-breath.

"I kissed him." She said. Then she grinned. "Oh my God, I kissed him."

Clint felt some kind of brotherly instinct kick in. It was always like that when he saw Natasha making-out with some guy, even if it was for mission purposes.

"You kissed who exactly?" he returned her grasp of their hands.

Their hands entwined like tangled rope as Natasha gazed up excitedly. "Steve." She breathed. "I kissed Steve."

Clint was tempted to scream, "EW GROSS!" at Natasha like an eight year old but he managed to compose himself. The thought of Steve Rogers – their leader, _the_ Captain America – locking lips with his best friend made him wince.

Of course, it wasn't that he was not supportive at Natasha not suppressing her emotions for once. Clint was unbelievably proud of her. She let her walls down and she didn't fight it.

Natasha had embraced the vulnerability and moved on with it.

Clint was positive that she was not the only one changed by this show of affection. Turned out, he was not wrong.

Now, at the hospital wing of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Steve and Clint were still standing at the hallway enveloped in silence that was not as awkward as they thought it would be.

"You should go patch up." Clint said at last. Steve tried to protest but Clint deflected it away like the many times he had done to Natasha. "I'll keep you updated about Natasha –" Steve couldn't help the small press of his lips that was welcomed by guilt. "– don't worry."

The archer sent Steve away to a room where the nurses fussed with his cuts and bruises. They stung but he didn't acknowledge it, nor the tiny secretive smiles the ladies exchanged when he took off his shirt to get his wounds dressed.

Instead, Steve found himself thinking of Natasha in every single way possible – her smile, her red hair, her cold emerald eyes that warmed up every time she looked at him, and her lips, soft and warm and so full of life.

Steve held on to her, even after when he was ushered back to his apartment to get rest. He waited through the sleepless night, his covers bunched up in his hands as he replayed the same mental image again and again.

 _Her smile, her hair, her eyes, her lips._

Steve closed his eyes but did not feel sleep tempt him.

 _Her smile, her hair, her eyes, her lips._

He waited and waited, until the next day came, and he waited for Natasha to wake up.


	4. 4

The wails of little Nathaniel filled the tense air. Natasha, despite the quick worrying pace of her heart, easily ignored it.

It was part of the many training she received – distraction was never tolerable in missions. Natasha must give 100% of her focus on her targets and do the job right.

But the situation she was in right now was not a mission. S.H.I.E.L.D. did not send her here. She came for Clint.

It was his family that was at stake – kind Laura, sweet Lila, determined Cooper and innocent, _innocent_ Nathaniel.

They were held hostage at their own home – the irony conflicting since home was supposed to be the safest place on Earth but now, it was far from that.

The bastard who was holding them up – Dillon Zarro, the Bullet Biker – was an old nemesis of Clint's. Clint had practically ruined Zarro's life by throwing him in jail. Now it was Zarro's turn to repay the favor. By hurting his family.

"I will, Barton, and I _swear_ on this, slit your family's throat one by one until you're pleading, _begging_ for me to let them go." Zarro had promised through the phone in his ragged and deep voice.

Natasha had never seen Clint looking so angry before, not even when he broke away from Loki's spell and realized he was used like a pawn in a chess game.

And she had never seen him look so helpless too. Dillon Zarro was harming the people he loved. And for all that Clint knew, he could already be too late.

Natasha had stuck to him without hesitation as he walked out the door with weapon in hands. Clint remarked on that.

"What?" she holstered a gun. "Did you ever doubt I would?"

"Never."

Though the words and action of loyalty were touching and all, it had never acquired to Natasha (until now anyways) – what about the first date with Steve?

Yes, they had scheduled a date tonight. He wanted to treat her to some kind of fancy restaurant downtown. She had agreed with a kiss.

But now, fighting off the army of Zarro's men, Natasha seemed to have accepted the fact that trouble would never stop finding its way to her.

 _It's okay_ , she thought to herself as she kicked atone of the assholes in the face. He tumbled on the ground, making hard impact with his head. He passed out. _I'll make it to dinner in time._

Natasha was sure of it…okay, maybe not _that_ sure. Right now, she had more important things to worry about, so she set it aside.

"Nat, give a hand!"

While trying disarm one of the men and dance away from the stray bullets, Natasha whipped her head around and aimed her gun at Clint's attacker.

Her slight moment of distraction did not affect her fight at all. She was still gaining the upper hand like always.

Once the man fell to the ground with a bullet in his chest, Natasha located Clint a few yards from her and joined him.

"Zarro and your family are inside." Clint gave a quick look towards the farmhouse as he released an arrow from the taut bow string. It sailed through the air and buried right into the target's abdomen. "I'll give you a distraction. You go in and get them out."

Clint's eyes hardened with determination and he nodded. "Thanks."

Natasha winked and punched one of Zarro's goon in the nose when he came too close. With a quick kick of flying pebbles, she took off like the wind.

The green tank top Natasha was wearing was slick with sweat and blood, clinging at her body in an uncomfortable way. She didn't had time to change into her cat suit but she certainly wished she did.

The costume was surprisingly more comfortable than it looked. It was easy to move around in it too.

Many of the men yelled and took chances on shooting at Natasha. She raised her own guns and shot back.

Her eyes roamed as she ran, searching for something that would help her create a big enough distraction…

Then there she saw it. Dillon Zarro's infamous bike.

The man was no called Bullet Biker for nothing. He was a biker – a good one too. His trademark weapon was his motorcycle that was redesigned by him with the intention to hurt and kill.

The metal was sleek and shiny, reflecting off the sinking sun. Gun holsters attached to the machine, all empty. Rockets were attached to the bike, ready to be activated any moment.

Natasha leaped on the motorcycle. There was a screen between the two leather bounded handles, digital buttons on display.

It made her smile. Hacking into the machine's control systems would be easy.

She did it in a mere few seconds. The words "SELF DEACTIVATE" appeared on the screen in red flashing colors.

Natasha slipped off the bike gracefully and gave a small salute to the men closing in on her. Then, she started to run towards them.

They paused for a while, confused.

When the moment they realized Natasha's intention was never to run to them, but _past_ them, it was already too late.

The motorcycle blew up, fire and ashes falling like rain.

Natasha, who didn't have the chance to get further away from the explosion, was threw face first on the rough dirt ground. She winced and forced herself back up.

It was one hell of a distraction all right. People around her was panicking. It was chaos.

Clint was nowhere to be seen. It was good sign – it meant that he was already inside dealing with Zarro, hopefully beating the shit out of him

He probably needed help on that.

As Natasha strode closer to the house, she could hear talking. It grew louder and louder after every step.

"Come on Clint, we're all friends here, right?"

A grunt of pain that Natasha did not recognized as her friend's. Then a second of silence before voices filled the air again.

"What about this? Put down the bow or I'll blow out you son's brain."

Natasha could hear Laura give a desperate strangled cry.

That was all the motivation Natasha needed. Without a second warning or a second thought on what her action might lead, she stepped through the gap where the door was tore out of its hinges and shot.

Zarro was quick but Natasha was much faster. He ducked the first bullet but before he could reach for his gun, the second one was already embedded in his throat.

His eyes grew wide, skin pale. Cooper took the advantage of his captor's loosened grip and pushed his way out of the cage of Zarro's arms.

"Oh my God." Clint said, more in a sense of relief than exclamation. He watched as Dillon Zarro thumped to the floor, eyes still opened glassily. " _Natasha_."

She turned to him and received a big hug from Clint, his arms wrapped around her shoulders as if he would never let go.

Natasha could feel his lips move at her chin. She made them out as the names which he repeated again and again – Cooper, Lila, Nathaniel, Laura. Natasha.

"Hey now." She said lightly. "People would think Hawkeye has gone soft."

He laughed, releasing her from his embrace. "Maybe he already has." His eyes softened a fraction. "But he got Black Widow to back up his sorry ass."

Natasha was going to smile but it seemed to get stuck in her throat when she suddenly remembered. Her date. Steve. _Steve_.

"Well, it's your turn to save my ass." She said. "I need your car."

As Natasha drove, she thought about why she even bothered. The sky was dark, indicating that she was already hours late.

Steve would have gone back home already.

But he didn't.

Natasha found him seated on the stairs that lead to her apartment, his head bowed as if he has done something wrong.

He looked up when he heard the hesitant footsteps. Immediately, he broke into a smile that Natasha did not deserve.

"You're here." Steve said. There was no glimpse of annoyance on her tardiness, which only intensify her guilt.

"I'm here." Natasha offered a hand to help him up on his feet. "And I'm so, _so_ sorry."

"It's okay." He leaned in and kissed her. "All that matters is that you're here."

They had missed their reservation at the restaurant so they just stayed in for the night watching awful chick flicks until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

And for the whole night, the air wafted with silence promised by an unspoken agreement as Steve and Natasha pretended he had not waited for her outside her doorstep alone.


	5. 5

Steve's apartment was hollowly quiet that evening when he came back. But somehow, he still had a feeling that Natasha was there.

And he was right.

His soft padding of footsteps led him to his room and he pushed open his unlocked door.

The first thing he saw was Natasha – it was always Natasha. But there was something off about her.

Her usual confidence stance was not present, gone along with the usual smile she treated him whenever she saw him.

This wasn't the first time Steve caught Natasha in this state. She zoned out a lot recently, always deep in thoughts that made her lips twist into a trouble frown.

In Natasha's arms was one of Steve's shirts, the one she kept stealing from him. This time, she wasn't wearing it. She was holding it – clutching it – as if it was her everything.

If Natasha had heard or seen him come up to her, she did not make any sign she did.

"Natasha." Steve touched her shoulders lightly. She flinched as if someone had shocked her. The jerky motion exposed guilt that she was bearing.

Guilt for what?

"Natasha, what's wrong?" Steve's blue eyes tried to persuade Natasha's greens to meet. "Talk to me. _Hey_."

A deep breath caught sharply in Natasha's throat, making Steve fall silent, eyes trained on her face unwaveringly.

"I'm on his side." Her head finally snapped up, her hair brushing across the blades of her shoulders. "Steve, I'm on Tony's side."

Immediately, Steve regretted that he ever asked the question. The…disagreement about the Superhuman Registration Act was getting intense. He knew that. Tony knew that. Their friends were starting to pick sides.

Steve had Bucky. Scott. Wanda. Sam.

But Tony had Natasha. Somehow, that made Steve feel as if he was already as good as gone.

That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that Natasha was leaving. Leaving the apartment. Leaving _Steve_.

He tried his best to ignore it, but the hollow feeling of betrayal was pounding like a drum. Steve knew that this wasn't his call to make. Just because he and Natasha were…together didn't mean he had a say in this.

But in some ways, he did. Steve had gave everything to Natasha – his secrets, his trust, his _heart._ The least she could do was to not hurt it. Because the things he gave away was not easy to get back. He may never could.

"I can't do anything about this, can I?" Steve answered softly, resisting the twitch of his fingers that yearned for the warmth of Natasha's hand.

She spun so her body was facing Steve, but not _quite_ facing him. Natasha's eyes were strictly glued to the faded white wall behind him.

"What? You're not even going to try?" her voice echoed emotionlessly around the room.

He could try. But…

"Do you really want me to, Natasha?" she flinched even harder than the first time when her name was mentioned. Immediately, that made Steve feel guilty.

He shouldn't be. There was a part of him, telling Steve to be mad. To be angry at Natasha. At Tony Stark.

But it was just not there. He couldn't get angry at someone who did nothing wrong.

Steve couldn't get mad at Natasha. He couldn't get himself to reason for her to stay without feeling like a prick.

Not that she would listen to him just because he guilt-tripped her. Natasha could perfectly well disperse her beliefs and blind emotion, unlike Steve nowadays. She would feeling the guilt eating her up insides, yes, but doing that wouldn't change her mind.

The only option Steve was left was to let go of her.

"No. I don't." Natasha reached out and for a second, Steve thought that she was going to pull him to her. Back to her.

Her hand dropped limply on her lap after a second of hesitation.

Their eyes met for the first time since Steve entered the room and he didn't know to feel glad or worried that all he could see was deep determination and the raging fire that urged her in battles.

The whole situation – the Superhuman Registration Act, picking sides – it was not just an argument anymore.

It was civil war.

"Goodbye, Steve." Natasha got up from his bed. The empty bed next to Steve ghosted through his cheeks like a kiss.

The red shirt slipped away from Natasha's long fingers, pooling on the bed in a puddle of crimson. That only made Steve's heart throb more painfully.

Natasha was leaving. She was only one step away from the opened door when he called her name.

"Natasha."

She paused.

There was so many things Steve could have done. He could have pleaded and begged for her to stay, he could have pulled her into that meting kind of kiss to make them both forget about this mess.

He _wanted_ to do that so badly.

But instead, Steve found himself telling Natasha, "We're going to meet again but at opposing sides." He held her gaze. "I will be ready."

Steve could see Natasha's lip tremble. She pressed them together tightly so the quivering wouldn't be so prominent.

"As will I." the returned promise wavered slightly in the air of silence.

Then she was gone. Really gone.

Steve picked up the shirt lying on his covers and looked at it. All he could see was Natasha.

Natasha. Natasha. Natasha.

A wave of fury hit him like a tsunami. Steve threw the piece of clothing on the ground with all his strength. The anger drove his aiming off and the shirt hit the glass photo frame.

It shattered on the floor into a million pieces, along with his heart.

Steve was not angry at Natasha. He was angry at himself. For letting Natasha go.

 _You didn't have any choice, remember?_

That didn't make any difference. The anger was still choking him, his chest feeling as if someone has stabbed a knife into it repeatedly.

The compressing pain. The silence around him. And finally, the hot liquid sliding down his cheeks.

Steve pressed his palms against his face, his eyes squeezed shut. Maybe if he hoped hard enough, it would start all over again. And maybe this time, Natasha would stay.

His fingernails dug sharply into his bicep, etching red curves of crescent moons on the skin. The pain did nothing to distract the empty feeling in his chest.

The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, which eventually led to hours, which Steve had sat on the bed numbly.

But the doorway was still as empty as ever, no matter how hard Steve had wished. He was waiting for someone who was not going to come back.


	6. 6

"Heads up, Rogers."

A water bottle sailed across the air, sent by a perfect underarm throw.

Not wanting to get hit in the head, Steve reached up to catch it, despite the thick bandages around his torso.

The bottle landed in his palm in a neat catch, the plastic crunching when his fingers wrapped around it.

"Sure." Steve said sarcastically, looking at the person standing by the doorway. His lips lifted into an inevitable smile. "Throw a water bottle at an injured man's face. You would have to give an explanation if the doctor comes in and see me with a bruised eye."

Bucky grinned back at his friend lying on the white hospital bed, arms folded together.

"Don't complain, Stevie." Steve gave him a look on the embarrassing but at the same time, endearing nickname. "You're Captain fucking America. Shouldn't you already be up on your feet taking down evil organizations or helping old ladies to cross the streets?

Steve scoffed in a humorous way and screwed open the cap of the plastic bottle.

"Well, Captain fucking America is not as invincible as everyone thinks he is." He paused a while as he tipped the water into his mouth. The cold liquid trickled down his throat. "He needs rest too."

Oh, Steve needed rest alright. For all the sleepless and stressful nights that went on for months. That was the first time in his life that he had actually considered to go back to sleep for another 70 years.

But that didn't matter. Not anymore. It was over now and that was all Steve cared about.

Of course, the end of this…war also led to something. A chance. A redemption of some sort. With Natasha Romanoff.

Steve didn't know what to do that with that given opportunity. Any sane men would have taken it instantly but Steve…he just wasn't sure. Not anymore.

"It's really weird when you refer to yourself as the third person like that." Bucky told Steve, edging closer to him. With a quick swipe of his metal arm, the water bottle was snatched away from Steve.

There was a small permanent curve of Bucky's lips that always seemed to ease up Steve's mood by a fraction. His improvement was remarkable, almost unbelievable. It wasn't an over-night thing though. Bucky kept forgetting and Steve kept reminding.

It was true that Bucky had lost control over his conscience several times but the most important thing was that he was okay now.

Despite all that, a part of Steve knew that the Bucky Barnes he lost - his Bucky – was not the Bucky Barnes he had found. And he might never be.

Steve was still trying to make peace with that.

"Hey, you alright?" Steve asked. Bucky's hand jerked a little to the left, causing water to spill down his shirt.

"Yeah, of course." He hastily capped the bottle. "Um, why do you ask?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "I have known you for almost my whole life, Buck. I can tell when you're lying." He pointed his index fingers at Bucky accusingly. "Which is what you're doing now."

Bucky cast the closed door a nervous look, which almost made Steve laugh. Nothing much was able to scare James Buchanan Barnes. Steve has saw him face down boys thrice the size of him, zip-line through snowy mountains as if it was nothing, and he was never hesitant.

"Okay, okay." Bucky turned back towards Steve. "She wants to talk to you."

Steve didn't know why he was asking. He already knew who it was. "She?"

"Black Widow." Steve's friend gave another look at the door, which made him think about what Natasha had done to scare Bucky like that.

"Let her in." He said a little too tightly. Bucky didn't argue.

A few moments after he disappeared out the door, someone replaced him, their strides quick and long.

It was her.

Steve had avoided Natasha for months. And she had been too. But some meeting were just inevitable – battles and important meetings on solving the conflict. Steve did not dare meet her eyes because he knew that one glance would throw him off his game. That was how much she could affect him.

But now, free from any pressure of winning some kind of twisted game they had been dancing around for so long, Steve could finally properly study at her. She had changed so much but at the same time, was still the same woman he knew and lo…adored.

Natasha's stance was tense like she was ready to attack any moment. Her green eyes were still as bright as ever and her mouth, though not positioned in the happy grin she bore whenever she saw him, was arched into a small subconscious smile.

"Hi." She said.

All Steve could do was stare at her like a complete idiot, drinking in every familiar and unfamiliar parts of Natasha.

They didn't speak for a while.

"How are you?" Natasha asked a little uncomfortably.

"I'm good. You?"

"Fine."

The long pause filled the air. Natasha exhaled through her mouth in frustration and that was how Steve notice that he had been staring at her lips. "I miss you."

The "I miss you too" was stuck in Steve's throat. He didn't force it out. All he did was nod and look down.

Since that day she left, he had missed her so much that he thought he was going to break into pieces. Every day, when the sun goes down and the night falls, the only thing luring Steve to sleep was Natasha's smile. And sometimes, during the tougher times, she was the reason he woke up in the morning.

Now, she wanted him back. And he wanted her back. Was it not simple? Why could they not just exchange "I love you"s and move on?

Maybe it was the battles he had fought. The stinging betrayal. The agonizing pain in his chest. Steve had changed. In so many ways that he never knew could. And that was the problem.

No matter how much he changed, he still needed Natasha in a hundred different ways. Steve didn't want this weakness.

 _Love is for children._ That was what Natasha used to say to him when he tried to have her open up to him. _Feelings are distractions._

Maybe she was right.

"Steve."

He looked up. Natasha did not look worried or scared at the blank silence she was rewarded with. Instead, her arms were folded and her face firm.

"Natasha, why did you come?" he asked. "Why now?"

She looked at him like he was crazy and seated herself on the uncomfortable looking plastic chair. "Why not now?"

He didn't answer, which gave her an opportunity to start talking.

"I left you. And I know I have no right to come back begging for you. So I'm not here to do that." Steve tilted his head towards Natasha, perked up with interest. "But you deserve an apology. And the truth."

"You don't need to apologize."

"Yes, I do. Look," Natasha's hand shot out to close over Steve's without much thought. At the moment she realized what she did, it was already too late to retrieve her hand. So she let it linger. "you are one of the best man I know and the first man I ever _needed_. I don't know what you would have expected in our relationship. You understand that I'm not an open person, or someone who would fall so easily with a couple of dates and sweet talk. But you still stayed and I didn't. I'm sorry for that."

Steve wanted to give in but the small determined part that never wanted to be hurt again resisted. Her hand lying on his was making the situation more difficult. She had no idea how long he wanted to touch her.

"Well, apology accepted." He said a little too coldly. Natasha's face remained impassive. Steve felt guiltier than he would if she had flinched.

Natasha's fingers tightened slightly around his. "It's not just the apology." She looked up to meet his eyes. "I just…want you to know that, um, you made me happy." She cleared her throat. "I, um, am grateful that you ever entered my life, despite everything that happened."

A smile fought its way to Steve's lips. He couldn't help it.

"You decided that I was worth the wait. I'm not sure about now but what I am sure is that you, _you_ are worth the wait to me. And I will wait until the world ends."

Natasha's eyes were blazing with passion when she looked at him and Steve wondered why he ever even considered on letting her go.

 _To protect yourself._

It was true. Natasha had done so much damage to him but maybe baby steps might help. One step after another.

"That's a very long time you're talking about." Steve said. "You sure you have the patience?"

That made Natasha grin - a grin they seemingly brighten up the whole bleak hospital room. "I don't know. Maybe you shouldn't make me wait too long."

She bent down and dropped a quick press of lips on his nose. "See you around soldier."

Steve smiled when she left because both of them knew that she did not have to wait any much longer now.


End file.
